


Money and Pain Got Me Heartless

by ralsbecket



Series: earth's mightiest heroes [21]
Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental overdose, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Tony Stark, Blood and Violence, Cheating, Childhood Trauma, Developing Relationship, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, From Sex to Love, Gaslighting, Headaches & Migraines, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Italian Tony Stark, M/M, MIT Era, Major Character Injury, Multi, Pre-Iron Man 1, Shotgunning, Song: Heartless (The Weeknd), Substance Abuse, Threesome - F/M/M, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28167654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralsbecket/pseuds/ralsbecket
Summary: Honest to God, Tony wanted to hate him for it. Tony wanted to hate that big, dumb blond beefcake for worming his way into his heart and giving him hope that maybe he’d be the one that could finally fix him.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Sunset Bain/Tony Stark/Tiberius Stone
Series: earth's mightiest heroes [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771900
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32
Collections: Stony's Sad Secret Santa, Stony*





	Money and Pain Got Me Heartless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fuckofdaedalus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckofdaedalus/gifts).



> "I'm back to my ways 'cause I'm heartless  
> All this money and this pain got me heartless  
> Tryna be a better man but I'm heartless  
> Never be a wedding plan for the heartless  
> Low life for life 'cause I'm heartless"  
> \- The Weeknd, _Heartless_
> 
> A/N: Alas, I don't know enough about Avalon Protocol to do it justice, but I did try to get as much of the other parts of the request in here! This turned into more of an angst fest than the dark fic I first imagined ~~because I usually don't write too dark but there was an attempt lol~~
> 
> A side-note: I don't drink a lot and I've barely touched weed, let alone harder drugs, so most events in this fic come second-hand a la Google (One or two scenes were inspired by _Puncture_ and _Political Animals_ ; see if you can spot them!)
> 
> Also a huge shout-out to all of the people that I bothered for cheers, and my beta [chucks_prophet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet), I appreciate y'all to the moon and back <3

It was no secret that Howard Stark’s only son and sole heir had himself a bit of a… reputation. When the world watched their every move, always remaining the talk of the town, it was sort of difficult _not_ to. Tony Stark had started off with being the boy-genius who built a functional circuit board at the ripe age of four, who one day evolved into being the youngest person at seventeen to ever graduate summa cum laude from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, before turning into the heartless, drug-addicted, alcoholic twenty-one-year-old playboy who was supposedly ruining his own life. (Never mind that he returned to MIT after a short gap year to pursue a PhD, because a lot of people certainly forgot about that.)

Somewhere between the ages of four and seventeen, Tony’s life had hit a rocky point (he would argue there were _multiple_ rocky points, but that was neither here nor there). Maybe it was the sips of scotch that his father started giving him to shut him up at seven. Maybe it was the shots of vodka that the other kids at boarding school gave him as a farewell when he left them for college at fourteen. Maybe it was the blunts of marijuana that were passed around at the upperclassman parties he attended at fifteen. Hell, maybe it was the first line of coke Ty had pressured him into snorting during his birthday party at eighteen.

Whatever it was, Tony never wanted to let it go. There was the whole cliché of _maybe the real treasure were the friends we made along the way_ , and Tony surely had a stupid number of friends. Well, _friends_ being the relative term. Most of them were leeches, mooching off of him because they heard the Stark name and only saw dollar signs. (Tony could count on one hand the number of people he actually gave a shit about – and wondered occasionally if that was why he’d earned the reputation of being heartless.)

It was because of this that sometimes – just sometimes – Tony hated James Rhodes’s guts. He was mean in the way he always nagged Tony about cutting back on the – well, everything. The drugs, the drinks, the people. But he meant well and notably was one of the few that cared about Tony unconditionally, without trying to manipulate him into doing anything for his own gain.

They met when Tony was a sixteen-year-old junior and Rhodey was, like most people, an eighteen-year-old freshman in undergrad. The story goes that the two of them had a true friendly rivalry going on when they first met, always trying to one-up each other with projects and with women. Their dynamic changed dramatically when Rhodey found him literally puking his guts out in the back alley of a house party they happened to both be at, and he had since never left his side.

Tony would never admit to anyone because while he might have hated Rhodey being all holier-than-thou, he was his best friend, and Tony wasn’t really sure where he’d be without him. And therein lay the problem: Rhodey had went off to join the Air Force after he graduated, leaving Tony to his own devices. Gone was the annoying little angel that sat on Tony’s shoulder and judged him for his bad decisions. (If someone were asked now, Tony’s decisions had immediately gone from bad to worse.)

Some people (namely, Rhodey) never understood why or how Tony was able to get crossed on a Monday night, glance over notes, and still manage to out-perform most of the students at their university. Be it his genius intellect or something else, the process was tried and true, and it got Tony to this final year of his doctoral program.

The night had started off like most others normally did, with Tony sprawled sideways on his full-size mattress, almost buried under notebooks and engineering textbooks while wearing nothing but his plaid boxers. His whole body was flushed from the alcohol sitting warm in his stomach, his head growing fuzzy from the dank smoke in his lungs.

Not twenty feet away, Tiberius Stone and Sunset Bain sat on the couch of his studio apartment talking between themselves, pulling out little baggies and their black cards to set on the glass coffee table.

“You didn’t get this from your usual plug?”

“My usual guy got busted by undercover vice because he got sloppy.” Ty shook out one of the packets of cocaine across the table, scraping a card against the surface to draw out clean lines. “Whit recommended this newbie to me, said he had a good cut. Asked for over two grand an ounce, though.”

Sunset pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and started to roll it, asking, “Two grand? That’s pretty steep.”

“I said he _asked_. I got ‘em for less,” Ty replied, smirking. He took the rolled-up bill from her before leaning forward, inhaling sharply. Sniffing, he handed it back. “One mind-blowing blowjob later, he was basically _begging_ me to buy it for half.”

Sunset brushed the white powder into another neat line before snorting it loudly, letting a smile fall onto her lips. Her eyes flickered over to Tony in the adjacent bedroom, watching as he pulled a blunt from his own lips and exhaled the smoke. “Babe, you want in on some of this?” she called.

Tony glanced up at her for two full seconds, genuinely contemplating it, before he shook his head. “Not in the mood.”

“Seriously? You usually go cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs,” she teased.

“You know more than I do that taking uppers and downers at the same time doesn’t bode well for anyone.”

Ty muttered, “Not like it’s stopped you before.”

Sunset gave a quiet _harrumph_ before pushing herself to her feet, steady enough as she approached Tony’s bed. “Baby,” she crooned, her voice as sweet as molasses, “you’ve had your nose in those books for too long. You’re already the smartest guy I know.”

“That hurts, Sun!” Ty retorted, calling after her. He patted the spot over his chest where his heart probably was. “Hurts right here.”

Ignoring him, Sunset moved to shut the book that was held in Tony’s hand. “Take a break. Just a short one.” She carded her fingers through his dark, curly hair, angling his head up enough for her to press their mouths together.

“You’re such a bad influence, babe,” Tony muttered against her lips with a grin, reaching up and brushing rogue hair from her face. “Your ‘short’ breaks are never exactly short.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Sunset had a look in her eyes that sent a shiver up Tony’s spine. His eyes tracked her as she climbed into his lap, leaving a chaste peck to his lips before trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down his jaw, his neck, his chest, his stomach.

His – _girlfriend? Friend with benefits? Girlfriend, she was his girlfriend, yeah_ – slid down his body and kept her gaze locked on his. It was like the wires in Tony’s head got crossed when Sunset nuzzled against his half-hard erection under his boxers. She mouthed over the wet spot in them that dampened with his pre-cum, and he swallowed down a groan at the sudden heat.

Ty slinked into his periphery and Tony just had time to feel his face burn red before his friend was leaning into his personal space, grabbing him by the back of the head and roughly slotting their lips together. He licked his way into Tony’s mouth, tasting of alcohol and something else that his muddled brain couldn’t link the name to.

Tony was never shy about his vices – _the world was already watching him with their million eyes, what was a few bad ones?_ – and sex was definitely one of them. It wasn’t long before his books were shoved off the bed. Cold hands twisted into his hair and hot mouths ravished his skin. Eventually, with Sunset riding him so sweetly and Ty fucking up into him from behind, Tony finally understood what the tabloids meant about that reputation of his.

Rocky point. This was another rocky point.

Tony woke up in the middle of the afternoon, sticky and warm and so fucking sore. The lights were too bright. The noise was too loud. He was too _hot_. His head hurt like a motherfucker, and it was still too soon from regaining consciousness to figure out which of the hundred things he did last night was the source.

Sunset was snuggled to his front and Ty was plastered to his back, with their shared body heat nearly overwhelming. It took some wobbly, evasive maneuvers to peel himself from the bed sheets without disturbing the other two. The constant throbbing in his brain got worse as he moved to stand; Tony caught himself on the edge of the mattress, wincing at the pain that seemed to crawl just to the front of his face.

He picked up his underwear from where it lay discarded on the floor before throwing it into his hamper. Tony grabbed a new pair from his dresser and slid them on with almost mechanical movements. The search for his phone was a short one, finding it plugged and fully charged in the wall of the kitchen counter.

There were a few unimportant social media notifications that he swiped away as he made his way to the bathroom. As the fluorescents flickered on, Tony’s eyes widened at the sight of purpling bruises all over his neck and shoulders and hips. (There was a thought, ever so brief, that despite looking and feeling thoroughly claimed by the two people who slept in just the other room, he didn’t _want_ to be.)

As he went through the motions of brushing his teeth clean of its rankness, Tony willed himself to listen to the seven voice messages that were left in his inbox: Two were from spam bots, one from Obadiah about some magazine interview yet to be scheduled, and four separate ones from his father about returning home for the winter holidays.

“ _Isn’t it time to wind down your antics before the new year?_ ” his father’s recorded message said. Think of the family and all that. Sure, whatever.

It wasn’t that Tony _didn’t_ love his parents. Of course he loved them, maybe not as much as he should, he could admit, but Howard mentioned they were going to the Bahamas without him anyway, so why bother? It was his last two semesters before his program was done. He could _taste_ the doctorate just out of reach, and he didn’t exactly want to head back to Manhattan on his own when he could easily stay in Cambridge doing what he did best, proving the world absolutely right and partying with his friends.

Contrary to popular belief, Tony didn’t give a flying fuck about what the world – or his parents, for that matter – thought about him. They could cite him as a waste of potential; they could say he was ruining his life with the drugs and the booze and the sleeping around; they could call him a notorious fuckboy, an addict, a heartless low life. After living the life he had, his skin had thickened enough for it.

The only thing that the world couldn’t call him was an idiot. Reckless, maybe. Sinful? Definitely. But Tony knew his genius intellect more than made up for it.

And it was in the eerie silence of his studio apartment, with Ty and Sunset still passed out on his bed, and last night’s memory seared into his brain, that Tony let a harsh reality wash over him: His genius intellect was the very reason he’d turned to drugs and booze and people in the first place. He was like the man enlightened after leaving the cave, and he abused all of it if only to return to the old simplicity of before. Before all the partying and smashing and crashing, all the anger and back-stabs and detachments.

Tony’s head hurt.

He did go home for the holidays, like his father had asked of him. The ironic thing was, going home was a mistake. Tony had undoubtedly made many, _many_ mistakes in his life, but being back in New York for Christmas was easily one of the worst ones.

On the sixteenth, Tony exchanged some _words_ with Howard, loud and harsh and spiteful. His father mentioned nonchalantly that he was still a little skeptical about how responsible he would be while they were gone. Tony wasn’t sure if he said it to get a rise out of him – _because who the fuck asks his son to come home, and then leaves him there?_ – but he certainly didn’t appreciate being some sort of glorified house-sitter.

Maria was kinder to him, like she always was, poking at the little furrow that had formed between Tony’s brows until he finally cracked a smile. She’d left him with a kiss to the cheek and a quiet “ _Sii buono con te stesso, bambino_.”

When they got into the car and drove off, the first thing Tony did was break into his father’s office and drink the entire handle of whiskey sitting on his desk.

On the seventeenth, Tony woke up so hungover that he couldn’t process exactly why Obie and three police officers were standing in his foyer. It took a solid few seconds for the words “car crashed” and “drove drunk” to finally stitch themselves together in his brain, alongside “parents are dead.” Maybe it was the shock, he wasn’t sure, but Tony laughed so hard that he started crying.

Later, when he’d gotten the alcohol out of his system, he remembered Howard was stone cold sober the day they left.

It was safe to say that Tony did not have a fucking holly, jolly Christmas that year. Obadiah forced him to go radio silent until the new year rolled around; it wasn’t that much of a feat considering he was only waiting for phone calls from three other people. Rhodey had called him as soon as he heard the news break to the public, and he stayed on the line with Tony for hours as he sobbed. Sunset called him briefly, sharing her condolences, but immediately found an excuse to hang up once it got too awkward. Ty just sent a fucking text.

Tony didn’t have much interaction with the outside world until after they buried both of his parents in a mausoleum so gaudy that he couldn’t help but sneer at it. All he could think about was if Ana and Jarvis were still alive, they probably would’ve smacked him for making a face, only to laugh with him once they returned to the mansion.

There were people there that Tony vaguely recognized at the funeral – a few faces from the Stark Industries board of directors, other socialites that swore up and down they’d been acquaintances with the family – but none of them said more than a practiced “I’m so sorry, son, they’ll be sorely missed” when Obie ushered him back to their town car.

The ride was silent between him and Obie. A thick blanket of nerves covered them until the older man finally turned to him with _that look_ , one that normally preceded a stern “Tony…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he said immediately, silently glad that he hadn’t taken his dark sunglasses off just yet.

“Are you really planning to go back to school so soon? I’m sure the administration will understand if you take –”

Tony waved him off, frowning. “It’s my last term, Obie. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Obie let the statement linger in the air for a long moment before sighing. “You’ve never dealt with losing your parents before, son.”

“Like I said…” Tony slid the shades off, angling his head in order to look Obadiah directly in the eyes. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

They held each other’s gaze steadily as the underlying implication of Tony’s words finally sunk in. Despite shedding as many tears as he had through the last few days, Tony had cried harder over the deaths of the Jarvises more than his own parents.

“I see. Well. We can work with that, I think,” Obie said guardedly as he cleared his throat, adjusting his necktie. “With the transition of power, I’ll take over as CEO in the interim while you finish your studies, if that’s what you really want.”

Wasn’t _that_ just the question of the year: What did Tony want? He’d spent his whole life living in his father’s shadow, the child prodigy, the genius son, always destined to take over the company one day. Did Tony really want all of that? Moreover, was Tony even in the right headspace to take on that responsibility?

He wasn’t in the right headspace a month later, either, after coming back to MIT. Thanks to the wonderful peer pressure from both Ty and Sunset, Tony instantly fell back into the old routine: drugs, drinks, people, and places he didn’t want to be. (Their reasoning was that he needed to get out of his head, and he couldn’t really argue with _that_ logic.)

It was precisely how Tony found himself at yet another party, his mind so gone on whatever shit Ty had given him that he wasn’t sure what time was anymore. It ebbed and flowed for him, and Tony figured maybe that was the precise key to time travel. Maybe he’ll fuck around and learn quantum mechanics or someshit, figure out how to go back in time, knock some sense into his father so that his life could’ve ended up on a much better –

“Don’t think too hard there, Tones, your head might explode.” For some reason, Ty’s usual cackle at his expense annoyed the fuck out of him.

Tony sent him a soft glare from the other side of the dingy couch they sat on. He raised the blunt to his mouth, took a drag, and then let the smoke out in Ty’s face. “Suck a fat one.”

“Oh, I have,” Ty replied heartily, a smirk slowly growing on his face. “You should remember, you were there.”

Before Tony could muster up a sharp retort – because he was usually good at those, him and his sharp tongue – he heard Sunset calling for him. He barely had time to look over the back of the couch to see her approach with someone, weaving in between the sweaty bodies of other partygoers, before they were suddenly in front of him.

“Tony! Tony, babe, you’re good with your mouth.”

“Understatement of the year,” Ty joked, winking at Tony suggestively.

If he wasn’t so far gone, he might have blushed. “That’s – what, okay – _context_ , Sun. I can’t read your mind.”

“Right, sorry.” Sunset chuckled slightly, running her fingers through her hair. She placed a hand on the arm of the poor guy that she’d dragged along with her, saying, “My friend Steve here wanted to try shotgunning, and Lord knows you make it look so pretty.”

Somehow, his fogged-up brain cleared, just enough. Tony blinked at his girlfriend for a moment, reading the expectant look on her face. His eyes slid over to the guy beside her – Steve.

Oh. _Steve_.

Even with his heart already beating at irregular rhythms, it found the wherewithal to skip a few more when Tony finally got a good look at the man. Steve was tall, blond, blue-eyed, with a shoulder-to-waist ratio that had Tony licking his lips like a predator would its prey.

“Looking to get high as a kite, big guy?”

“Among other things, if I’m honest,” Steve managed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

The corners of Tony’s lips started to turn up with a smile as he made eyes with Steve; it grew wider when the blond’s cheeks visibly turned a slight pink. He’d seen Steve’s type before, the stereotypical frat bro who was either deep in the closet or just looking for a good time. Regardless, Tony had the undeniable need to _ruin_ this man; to be the reason for his mussed-up hair, red-flushed cheeks, and kiss-bitten lips.

Tony patted the cushion that separated himself and Ty. Sunset honest to God giggled at that, all but pushing Steve forward. He plopped down unceremoniously, settling himself beside Tony.

“So…” Steve turned his head to face Tony, his expression open and awfully curious. Tony’s eyes traced the movement of Steve’s lips before flicking back to the blues of his irises. “I’ve never – I mean, how exactly do you –”

“Why don’t I just show you?” Tony interjected, trying to hide the lustful tone in his voice. He carefully placed the blunt between his teeth and pushed himself up to stand momentarily.

Sunset almost immediately replaced him on the couch when he got up. Tony turned to face the couch again, moving forward until he was well within Steve’s personal space, straddling his lap. With knees braced on either side of Steve, Tony could appreciate just how solid he felt underneath his hands. He had to suppress a grin when Steve’s own hands skimmed up his thighs and maintained a firm hold on his hips.

Despite the dodgy lighting at the party, being this close to Steve let Tony see the beautiful shade of his eyes. They were blue like the Atlantic, with green speckled within – he’d never seen anything like them. God, did he want to drown in those eyes.

Tony’s gaze fixated on the other man’s lips as he raised a free hand to rest under Steve’s jaw. “Just open your mouth a bit, and all you gotta do is breathe in deep,” he instructed, feeling his chest rise as he inhaled and held the smoke in his lungs. He blindly passed the blunt off to Ty, leaned closer to Steve, and then breathed out slow and steady when his mouth opened.

The smoke curled a bit in the space between them, wisps of it drawn in by Steve’s inhale. Tony’s lips brushed against Steve’s, the touch so feather-light but there, but then Steve leaned his head back and away to expel the smoke before Tony could do anything about it.

“Holy… shit,” Ty said, looking as awestruck as he sounded.

Sunset huffed out a laugh, grinning. “You can say that again.”

Steve’s face was flushed a deep red, all the way to his neck, and Tony wondered how far down it went. The blond looked up at Tony with eyes so dark and wide-blown they looked like the deep trenches of the ocean. His voice was low and breathy as he said, “Can I…?”

Tony nodded wordlessly, accepting the blunt back from Ty before pressing it to Steve’s waiting lips. The blond’s mouth closed around it before he took a long hit.

Both of Steve’s hands moved up to grab Tony’s face with surprising gentleness. Blue eyes met brown ones, and Tony let himself be pulled in. Steve slotted their mouths together, the kiss cautious but firm, enough to send tingles from Tony’s lips all the way to his stomach. They breathed each other in, eyes falling closed once the fingers of Tony’s hand found purchase in Steve’s soft hair.

His mind was spinning and growing foggy again, and Tony wasn’t sure if that was coming from the marijuana or how Steve just left him increasingly breathless by the second. A familiar, delicate hand trailed up from Tony’s leg, slipping under his shirt to caress his side. He pulled away from Steve with a wet smack, turning to face Sunset with half-lidded eyes. She met him halfway, reclaiming his mouth with a low groan.

_Want, want, want_ was really the only train of thought running through Tony’s head, one that was slowly derailing as the intrusive images of Obadiah and Stark Industries and _if that’s what you really want_ suddenly pushed to the forefront of his mind.

What did Tony want? In the moment, it was this – no responsibilities, no company on his shoulders, just enough shit in his system to get him out of his head and into someone else’s bed.

Steve leaned forward then, kissing a line up the slope of Tony’s exposed neck before suckling on a spot just under his jaw.

Oh, God, did he want it.

Tony Stark, by principle, hated to be handed things – literally and figuratively. He also hated things that he could get easily, so of course he chased what was often too far out of his reach. That didn’t mean he never tried. It started with trying to earn his father’s favor as a young kid, and then with endeavoring into electrical engineering and physics at MIT.

It continued, still, with his current fixation over Steve Rogers. There was something about him that drew Tony in like a dumb moth to a bright flame. He was hooked ever since the very first night they met, as if Steve was his own personal brand of heroin and Tony was jonesing for him in all the best ways. (And, as many people were aware, Tony never stopped until he got what he wanted.)

His relationship with Steve began as another rocky point in Tony’s life filled with them. Given, there was that little bitty caveat of Tony not actually being single. It was a whole lot of lying to Sunset about needing to focus on defending his thesis, when he was actually at Steve’s apartment getting his brains fucked out.

Was Tony guilty about cheating? Maybe he _should've_ been. In truth, he really wasn’t. Things with Sunset – and even Ty, for that matter – had never been great, per se, but never actually awful. After spending most of his college years with them clinging onto him, enabling all of his bad vices, things just got… boring. Repetitive? Uninteresting. (If Tony was really being honest with himself, the most fun he’d had with either of them were probably forgotten somewhere in their drug- and alcohol-infused nights. He should’ve listened to Rhodey sooner, but he’d die first before admitting _that_ out loud.)

The thing he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around was that being with Steve was – different. There were no strings attached, just one lonely person looking for something in another lonely person. But Steve was sweet on him; he made Tony feel like he was more than just another notch on the bedpost (which, _wow_ , Tony could probably write sonnets about the wonders of his cock). There were nights when Steve would be rough and manhandled Tony just how he wanted to be, but there were more nights where Steve would whisper sweet nothings into his skin and unravel Tony just how he _needed_ to be.

His hips would roll just the right way, his hands gripping at Tony’s hard enough to leave bruises he’d marvel at in the morning; his kisses tender and fond before turning carnal and starved, leaving Tony’s head spinning from the whiplash. Tony had initially set out to ruin Steve the moment he had his sights on him, and never in a million years would he have imagined that _Steve_ would be the one to ruin _him_ for everyone else instead.

Even then, it eventually became a whole lot more of sneaking a drink or a hit around the blond, too, because for some goddamn reason he actually started to care about _Tony_ for more than just the sex and glory. It was like having a second Rhodey in his life; silently judging whenever he’d turn up somewhere smelling like scotch or cush, acting a little erratic because of something harder that Ty had given him. The straw that broke the camel’s back was the one night after they had sex and Tony was just _sweating_ vodka despite not drinking for three days.

The look of disappointment on people’s faces never bothered Tony before, but it looked so foreign on Steve’s that he never wanted to see it there again.

Steve had never acted like his boyfriend, only because Tony had drawn that line for him from the get-go and he respected it, but it didn’t mean Tony was blind to the looks he gave him. The furrow in Steve’s brows when he was worried, the twist of Steve’s mouth when he tried not to smile at Tony’s jokes, the softness in Steve’s eyes whenever he gazed at Tony with this undiluted affection –

Honest to God, Tony wanted to hate him for it. Tony wanted to hate that big, dumb blond beefcake for worming his way into his heart and giving him _hope_ that maybe he’d be the one that could finally fix him. (Tony could count on three fingers the number of people that genuinely gave a shit about him – and wondered if Steve might be the one to prove that he wasn’t so heartless after all.)

It was many years ago that his dad first told him that Stark men were made of iron. He’d practically drilled it into Tony about needing to put some of it into his spine lest he be seen as weak, as without it he’d amount to nothing. (Of course, Tony was _seven_ when he’d said it, but it apparently stuck.)

Howard used to always be cold and calculating, emotionless and stoic save for his drunken, unbridled rage. Tony’s years of trying to emulate what his father wanted him to be had since folded into his own personality – but he wasn’t good at hiding it in public like his father was. The marquee sign plastered to Tony’s back touting his supposed heartlessness was evidence of that.

Only a select few had been able to look past the callous and jaded mask that he wore, to poke at the cockles of his heart, which was why it surprised even Tony that Steve of all people was able to soften him up so much; that maybe, if he let himself lower his guard a bit more, Tony might be able to love him back.

He wasn’t sure if Steve realized he’d said it or remembered saying it at all – Tony assumed Steve was so sex-drunk that night, maybe it had merely slipped out in the heat of the moment. Having been so caught up in chasing his own release, Tony nearly missed the punched-out “I fucking love you” that Steve had groaned out from under him. It was still loud enough to shock Tony into stopping mid-thrust, hips flush against Steve’s ass. (Not many things left Tony Stark speechless, but _that_ – yeah, that was one way to go about it.)

When Steve came, twisting in the bedsheets and writhing under him, he clenched down on Tony so hard that he pulled an orgasm right out of him. Tony’s vision nearly whited out as he collapsed onto Steve’s chest, panting like he’d just run a marathon. Even with Steve soothingly carding his fingers through Tony’s sweat dampened hair, after, the gears in his head wouldn’t stop whirring.

Tony’s brain was his greatest asset, although at the same time, it was also his greatest weakness. He was good at easily running circles around anyone, but when it came down to having to deal with emotions and _feelings_ … well, admittedly, those things he wasn’t very good at. What he _was_ good at was drowning it all out with an embarrassment of booze and drugs, and Tony felt only a _little_ guilty about getting back into it all, especially after Steve had tried to get him out.

The month of May had been one thing snowballing right after another: Sunset finding out that he’d been sneaking around for months (with a lot of shouting and angry tears, which he expected), Tony stressing out over completing the very tail-end of his semester (with a lot of all-nighters in the library, caffeine included), and not to mention Obie breathing down his neck constantly about taking over the company (with a lot of self-doubt, because Tony wasn’t sure if that was what he wanted anymore).

The day after he defended his doctoral thesis, Tony was back in Manhattan only because Obie’d scheduled a _Forbes_ magazine interview in advance of their announcement, about “the new kid” taking the reins as Stark Industries’ CEO. Despite needing to deflect some particular questions on Tony’s end in regard to his notorious partying playboy reputation, the interview itself wasn’t horrible. The horrible thing came _after_.

He’d gone to a random party on his own that same night, just to take the edge off the mountain of stress piling up on him. A few drinks, maybe a few hits if he was lucky. But because the universe had a sick sense of humor, it showed Tony just how unlucky he really was. Most of the night was fuzzy to him, like a wall was built in his head to block it out. Tony knew, logically, that it was some kind of trauma response, but he at least wanted to _remember_ how the fuck he ended up being sent to the hospital on a drug overdose.

There were bits and flashes that Tony tried to piece together – the bite in his skin where he pierced it with a needle, the brightness from the paramedics’ flashlight when they checked his pupil dilation, the taste of the bile that came up his throat when he puked in the ambulance. In his haze, he remembered them conducting x-rays, EKGs, tox screenings. The thing he remembered most was the _fury_ in Obie’s eyes when he showed up hours after being called by the doctors.

There was an IV line hooked up to Tony’s arm to give him fluids, and it felt so unnatural that it made his skin crawl. Tony was coherent but so fucking tired when Obie shut the door to his private room. His mouth was still dry when he choked out, “Obie, I’m sor –”

“Don’t even fucking _finish_ that word, Tony!” he half-shouted, one hand raising a finger in his direction. “If you were _really_ sorry, you would’ve stopped this bullshit years ago.”

“I didn’t mean to –” Tony grimaced, feeling the words scratch his throat. He was tired. “I just needed a hit –”

“You _always_ need a hit, Tony –”

“– the stuff was probably laced with –”

“– and it’s always excuse after excuse, it’s a wonder you’ve dodged death this long. You were always so fucking selfish.”

Tony’s mouth fell slack as he stared at Obadiah. Blood rushed to his ears. He didn’t mean it – he _couldn’t_ have meant it.

No. No, he – Obie was always – _had_ always been on his side. The man was always supporting his little inventions, encouraging his pursuit of education, even when his own father thought it was all worthless.

He was so tired.

Tony’s fingers started to bounce on his leg. His teeth clicked when he picked up his jaw, blinking away the tears that had pricked his eyes. Sarcastically, he spat, “Wow. Why don’t you tell me how you _really_ feel, Obie.”

They stared each other down, frowns permanent fixtures on their lips, before Obie’s shoulders sagged with a heavy sigh. “Tony, I just don’t… Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

“I… What?”

“These addictions – haven’t they done enough damage? I’m not going to sugar-coat it for you, son, I never understood why you went the way you did.”

“ _Why_ I went –?” Tony almost laughed at that. “Howard, it was always Howard – what – don’t act like you didn’t –”

“You chose to do _this_ , all the – the drugs and the girls and – and for what? Attention? You’ve always had that, ever since you were a _boy_ , even. The whole world at your feet.”

Tony’s heart was aching, and he felt his throat closing. Sweat started to bead down his neck. He sniffed, spitting vitriol from his lips, “Fuck you.”

Obie shook his head, continuing, “Your father gave you _everything_ you could have ever wanted, Tony, and yet you decided to get selfish and risk throwing it all away.”

“Do you think I _wanted_ this?!” The tears in his eyes were back, making his vision blurry and threatening to pool over. Tony’s jaw trembled, and he took a moment to take in an equally shaky breath. “F-fuck off, Obie, you don’t know the first thing about what I want.”

Silence.

It made Tony uncomfortable; it seemed a whole lot louder than when they were shouting at each other.

“Alright,” Obie said after a moment, reining back his anger. “I’ll bite. What _do_ you want?”

Tony wanted to sleep. He wanted to kick Obadiah from the room and just bundle under the stiff sheets. He wanted to change his name and move to fucking Morocco where goats climbed trees. He wanted nothing to do with Stark Industries.

Mostly, he just wanted to be safe. To feel safe. And loved. He wanted –

“Steve.”

Obadiah’s eyes widened slightly before his expression fell into one of confusion. “Steve? Tony, I swear to God, this ‘Steve’ better not be another drug or so help me –”

“No! No, he’s a person.” _The best person_ , Tony’s tired brain supplied. Now that the tension in the room had dissipated, he was starting to feel more and more tired.

“Okay,” Obie started slowly, still unconvinced. “I’ll call… I can get Steve for you, Tony. Who is he?”

“He’s…”

A fuckbuddy. But more than a friend?

A lover, then. Right?

“He’s my boyfriend.”

The following few days were absolute _hell_ for Tony’s body. More so that Obie had requested for an outpatient treatment for him instead of keeping him at the hospital. Was it poetic that Tony was forced to detox at his childhood home, the very place that had created his demons in the first place? Even going through the worst of it, Tony found a little room to laugh at the irony.

He hated all of it. Tony hated feeling so tired but not being able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time. He hated feeling hot and cold all at once; the shaking, the sweating, the pain every time he _breathed_.

Those first couple of days were nothing compared to the ones after, with the hallucinations and the anger and the nonsense coming out of his mouth. Obie had locked him in his bedroom at that point, alone, when he started to beg for something to stave off the symptoms – just one hit of weed, one sip of the gin hiding in his dad’s old office – anything to _just make it fucking stop_.

As the days started blending together, Tony was starting to feel hopeless. Fuck, he just wanted to _die_ – felt like he was, slowly. He hated Obie, for putting him there. He hated Rhodey, for not _being_ there. He hated his parents, for pushing him there in the first place.

And he hated Steve, too, because he was all Tony saw when his brain went all wobbly, with his kind words and bright smile, but without his soft touch and relieving comfort.

When Tony saw the hallucination of Steve standing at his bedroom door one day, he just gave it the finger before turning back around in his bed. “Fuck off,” he huffed. “Not in the mood today.”

“Tony, it’s me,” it said softly, the timbre in its voice almost vibrating in the air, as if it were real.

“Yeah, asshat, it’s always you,” Tony muttered into his pillow, letting his eyes fall. “Always you and never him.”

Light footsteps. A dip in the bed. Tony’s eyes flew open when warmth wrapped around him, solid and real and pressed against the length of him. He angled his head over his shoulder, coming face to face with shining blue eyes and a reserved smile.

“Hey, you,” Steve said in a whisper, concern etched into his handsome features.

Tony turned around so fast that he gave himself whiplash, but it was so fucking worth it to wrap his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders, to feel his heart beating against his chest, to breathe his scent into his lungs again. “You’re real,” he gasped out wetly, barely swallowing down a sob.

He didn’t even realize he’d started crying.

Steve’s hands rubbed up and down on Tony’s back, his half-circles and figure-eights grounding him. He pressed a kiss against Tony’s neck, mumbling, “Sweetheart, I’ve always been real. Mr. Stane sent for me when… Doesn’t matter.” Steve held Tony tighter in his arms, nosing along his jaw. “I’m here, Tony, I got you.”

For the first time in a long time, Tony slept soundly in Steve’s embrace.

It was no secret that Tony Stark had lived up to his reputation over the years. He was everything the world said and more, his every move documented by the news outlets and gossip rags. The only thing they had gotten wrong, however, was about him not having a heart. If Tony Stark was as heartless as they all said he was, _why was he hurting so damn much_?

He thought that he and Steve were doing good. Sure, Tony never had a good track record with significant others, but Steve already _knew_ that. Steve had seen him at his absolute rock-bottom and stayed with him despite the fact, so Tony just… didn’t know what he did wrong.

Steve stopped talking to him out of the blue. No rhyme or reason, just… radio silence. They had gone out to a nice dinner – a proper one, out in public, as a _real_ couple – and talked about what they wanted for the future. Steve told him that he wanted, ultimately, to become an architect for the giant skyscrapers in cities like in New York. Tony wanted to save the world with leaps in technological innovation and to not be responsible for his father’s company. (They both wanted big families, too. The idea of having one with Steve someday had made his heart happy.)

Tony thought they were _good_ , they had been so _good_ , and he had wished so hard that this was it – that Steve was _it_ for him.

Obadiah convinced Tony that maybe Steve got cold feet, didn’t want to be part of his world. He persuaded him to think that maybe the prospect of having the public scrutinize every move was too much for Steve. And that was always it, wasn’t it? In Tony’s world, he could have _anyone_ he wanted – but the one person he did want didn’t want him back.

So, Tony threw himself into his work at Stark Industries. He may have been young, but Obie had his back whenever he made important decisions, and that was all that mattered. Tony hated the board meetings and the investors dinners, but he loved heading the R&D division. It felt good to have a new outlet for his ideas, one that _actually_ made a difference.

Within seven years, Tony was swimming with the sharks, but he never let his guard down. Stark Industries became known as the company run by futurists. He brought them smarter weapons, more advanced robotics, and better satellite targeting. Tony expanded SI into medical tech and agricultural innovation, and signed new military contracts with the U.S. government. (A big plus with that was being able to have Rhodey as his liaison; it was always a good time when they were together.)

Rhodey always loved seeing the new toys that Tony’d dream up. The live demonstration of SI’s newest weapons missile, the Jericho, was successful during their trip to the Kunar Province of Afghanistan. The other soldiers were a little awestruck meeting him, and it was flattering, really; they were risking their lives out in battle, the least he could do was make it a little safer for them.

The Humvee they rode in was silent except for the AC/DC song blasting from their little radio and the ice clinking in Tony’s glass of scotch. The soldiers kept exchanging looks with each other, before blatantly staring back at him. Tony for the life of him couldn’t help but to think they were driving him further out to the desert just to snuff him. One snide remark about gender equality and the 2008 _Maxim_ models had the three soldiers laughing in no time.

“Is it cool if I take a picture with you?” asked the airman to his left after raising a hand.

“Yes,” Tony replied. “It’s very cool.”

He immediately dug into one of his cargo pockets and pulled out a small digital camera before handing it to the airman in front.

“I don’t want to see this on your MySpace page.” Tony leaned closer to the soldier, who raised a V with his fingers. “Please, no gang signs,” he deadpanned before the soldier actually dropped them, immediately adding: “No, throw it up. I’m kidding.” The two airmen bickered briefly about the camera settings, and Tony felt his smile fall slightly.

Then, the explosion.

The Humvee in front of them was blown to smithereens, rocking the ground and their vehicle. Chaos erupted almost immediately. Tony’s heart was beating so hard that he could hear it in his ears, even as the three airmen started shouting orders, falling into battle mode.

“Jimmy, stay with Stark!”

“Stay down!” Jimmy barked, grabbing Tony’s shoulder and shoving him down into the seat. He didn’t need to be told twice.

Gunfire rained down on them from the left side, all but pinning them in place. Tony’s mind was reeling – he was going to die, oh God, he was –

“Hey, wait, wait, wait, hold on!” Tony yelled, calling after Jimmy as he hopped out of the vehicle. “Give me a gun!”

Jimmy’s voice was muffled through the window: “Stay here!” He took two steps forward before getting stitched by some sort of mine, the blast punching holes into the Humvee and immediately disorienting Tony. _Out,_ he needed out, he needed out _now_.

With his ears still ringing, dulling the sound of bullets around him, Tony scrambled from his door and into the desert heat. Smoke. Machine gun fire. Tracers zipping past. Shouting. Tony saw an M-16 on the ground and made a grab for it, ducking behind the hood of the Humvee to check – _goddamn it_. He threw the gun down, useless with it damaged.

He spotted Rhodey in the Humvee behind his, manning the machine gun attached to it. Tony shouted for him, feeling the fear and adrenaline simultaneously coursing through his veins. “Rhodey! _RHODEY!_ ”

“Get down, Tony!” he might have shouted back, waving an arm to him. “Get –”

Another explosion had them all ducking for cover, and Tony ran for it. He jumped behind a boulder sitting a few paces away, panting for breath. He pulled out his phone, breathing in deep through his nose, his fingers shaking as he typed out an –

Something thudded in the dirt next to him. His heart stuttered involuntarily when he saw STARK INDUSTRIES written on the side of the dud RPG, how in the _fuck_ – beeping. It was beeping. _Not a dud_. Tony scrambled to his feet too late, the force of the blast throwing him back into the hot ground so hard that the breath was knocked right out of his lungs. (Maybe he shouldn’t have smoked so much in college. Maybe he shouldn’t have done _a lot_ of things in college.)

It hurt. Everything hurt. There was a dull throbbing in his chest that Tony knew was going to get worse whenever the adrenaline would decide to leave his system. He reached for his dress shirt, ripping it open with a deep groan to look at his body armor underneath and – oh. _Shit_. Yeah. Big wounds. Okay, that’s – that’s his blood. A lot of blood.

Tony let out a haggard breath, letting his head thud against the dirt as the nausea hit him finally. He squinted up at the sun, starting to feel a little melancholic. Rocky point. This was probably going to be the last rocky point of his life, getting done-in by his own weaponry. The universe really _was_ a little shit.

“Tony!”

It was faint. Whoever it was calling for him sounded so far away. Rhodey, he realized. No one else would be coming for him.

“Sweetheart – oh, my God.”

Tony blinked back the black dots that the sun burned into his corneas. His brain registered the uniform, the exact same as everyone else’s, before it recognized the man’s face – and he was definitely not Rhodey.

“Am I dead?” Tony asked quietly, limbs suddenly feeling very heavy. He had to be dead. He _had_ to. What reason was there for Steve to be in the desert?

Pats to the cheek. His hands were warm, rough.

“Tony? Tony, hey – stay with me.”

And he sounded like Steve.

“I’m dead, right?” Tony said again, his eyes finally locking onto blue eyes, _so blue_ , like the ocean. He remembered wanting to drown in them once.

Steve’s face was dirty, sweaty, battle-worn. Older. Tony felt his heart clench at getting to see the love of his life one last time – or maybe it was because Steve was pressing down on his chest to staunch the bleeding with a bit of gauze and a dirty rag. It was a toss-up.

“Fuck, Tony, I –” His voice broke. Steve looked like he was about to cry; his brows were knitted together, his mouth set in a frown. “Jesus Christ, you’re bleeding out too fast… Rhodes! Ramirez! We need help here, _goddamn it_!”

“Loud, Stevie, too loud…” Tony groaned, one hand rising to pat at Steve’s shoulder. The dust caught in his throat, and Tony coughed. He tasted metal.

There was the sound of Velcro, a curse, and then there was a blood-curdling scream that reached Tony’s ears when he felt a heavy weight in – _in_ his chest. It took a few seconds, along with the burn of his throat, before he realized it was him who screamed.

“Sorry, _fuck_ , I’m sorry,” Steve sniffed, leaning his weight forward onto one hand as the other went up to brush away the hot tears that ran down the sides of Tony’s face. “God, I am so fucking sorry –”

Somebody dropped down to their knees on Tony’s other side. The sun dimmed. He took a moment to catalog Rhodey’s face. “Hey, Platypus,” he greeted breathlessly, fighting just a little harder to keep his eyes open.

“Rogers, what the _fuck_ did you do?” Rhodey questioned, glaring at Steve like he’d just shoved his hand into Tony’s chest.

Which he did.

Maybe it was justified.

Steve stuttered as he spoke, his voice wrought with emotion, “I-I tried to tamponade the wound, I couldn’t – he’s bleeding too fast, Jim.”

Rhodey was leaning over him, reaching for his neck to check his pulse. “Medevac is on the way, we have to just – Tony? Hey, Tones. You with me?”

Tony swallowed thickly, breathing shallow, but strong. His hand still resting on Steve’s shoulder moved up to the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the damp hairs. “It’s Steve,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, I know it’s Steve, he’s my –” Rhodey paused. He blinked at Tony for a moment before his head moved up to stare at the blond. “You motherfucker. _You’re_ Cambridge Steve?”

Steve stayed frozen, left hand still in Tony’s chest, as he kept his eyes locked with Rhodey’s. “Not the right time.”

Rhodey opened his mouth before shutting it just as quickly. He looked down at Tony, who looked right back at him, before cursing. “Don’t you dare fucking move your hand.” And then, he was gone, hustling back to the Humvee to talk with his airmen.

Tony groaned loudly, feeling a harsh shiver travel up his spine. He was starting to feel – _everything_. “Steve,” he gasped, biting back a sob. “I’m _sorry_.” He was going to die, but at least – at least –

“Shh, Tony, don’t talk,” Steve whispered, moving to caress back Tony’s hair. “We can talk later, when we –”

“You know I’m not heartless, right?” His voice was small. Tony stared up at the sky. It was a dull grey, nothing like Steve’s eyes, but he didn’t want to look at him. His heart wouldn’t be able to take it. His chest ached. “You know that better than anyone…”

“Tony, stop –”

“You held my heart once, and now you’re holding it again,” Tony said breathlessly, chuckling in spite of the pain.

Tears ran down Steve’s distraught face. Distraught, and aged, but still Steve. _His_ Steve. “Stay with me, okay? I’m here, Tony, I got you.”

“I know.” Tony made the effort to look at him again, smiling through the pain. His head hurt from the blood loss. He was crying too. “I never stopped loving you, you know.”

Steve looked _pained_. It was foreign. Tony wanted to kiss away the sorrow on his face. “Tell me that when we get back home, okay?”

“Do you… still love me?”

“Yeah, sweetheart.” With his free hand, Steve reached to grasp Tony’s. He pressed a firm kiss to his palm, and Tony could feel the hot tears on his cheeks. He smiled sadly, and warmth bloomed in Tony’s chest. “I never stopped loving you either.”

“Okay. Yeah. Good.” He managed a grin. His eyes were heavy, but he kept them steady on Steve’s.

Tony Stark had a million eyes watching him his entire life, but those ocean-blues were the only ones he wanted to see. They were going to be okay, once he got patched up. Yeah. They were going to be _good_.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Left it open-ended because anything could happen - maybe Tony survives, maybe he doesn't, maybe they get together, maybe Steve's actually got a family now, who knows ::eyes::
> 
> (In case the text hover doesn't work - _sii buono con te stesso, bambino_ = be good to yourself, little boy)
> 
> [Check out my linktree for tumblr, discord, and other socials!](https://linktr.ee/ralsbecket)


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